


All To Myself

by wonker8



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: FBI AU, M/M, NBC Revolution Kink Meme, h/c, no blackout, waiting game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:11:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1761489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonker8/pseuds/wonker8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bass is off on an undercover mission and Miles realizes just how hard it is to live without his other half.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Losing and This is My Real Life.

**Author's Note:**

> Filled for this [prompt](http://revolution-kink.livejournal.com/719.html?thread=32207#t32207) at Revolution Kink Meme: "Monroe's been under cover for so long, now that the assignment's over and the bad guys are being put away, he doesn't know how to come back to his own life. Cue Miles trying to get him sorted out and helping him through the transition. And yeah, there should be porn: Miles reminding Bass where he belongs and who he belongs to."
> 
> Title from Marianas Trench's "All to Myself."

There are many things that Miles knows, and believe him when he says that he knows quite a lot of things. It’s part of his job description. He works for the FBI, you see.

A while back, he had a wonderful job on the field. But, well, there’s only so much you can do on field when you’re in love with your partner. So he stepped down. 

Because Bass loves the fieldwork and Miles can never ask him to quit something for his own sake. Because as much as Miles loves the fieldwork, Miles loves Bass more. And if this lets them both keep their job at the FBI, so be it. Miles can live with that (Besides, his handwriting is much better than Bass’ crazy scrawl).

Every day, Miles takes care of piles of paperwork. And he waits for Bass to stop by so they can exchange a quickie somewhere private before Bass has to go back (or, if Bass is away on a mission, Miles just closes his eyes and pretend that Bass is here. Because sexting or phone sex might jeopardize the mission). After work, Miles trudge back to the dark apartment to the smell of dinner and scented candles. Bass will wait for him in the bedroom, a lopsided grin on his face, most often dressed in nothing (and few times, when they haven’t seen each other in a while, he handcuffed himself to the bedframe and let Miles just ravage him).

That’s why Miles is okay with this arrangement. 

He’s okay with the mountain of paperwork, because it means that at the end of the day, Bass will greet him with open arms and loving lips.

That’s why this has to be okay.

That’s why he can’t react.

“Miles?” Bass whispers, his voice hoarse. “Please say something.”

“I… What do you want me to say?” Miles rubs his temples before pouring himself a glass of malt. “You want me to shake your hand? Tell you congratulations? What the hell do you want from me?”

“I don’t know! Just… Don’t just stand there. Don’t just stare at me. Please, just… react.”

“You want me to react?” Miles snaps more harshly than he intended. His voice is too loud and he’s verging on the edge of hysteria. “You want me to react? Alright. Let me react then. I gave up fieldwork for you. I gave it up so that we wouldn’t have to be apart. So that they won’t have to transfer one of us to a different location. And I was fine with it. But now you’re telling me that you’re going away? Damn it, Bass! Just how am I supposed to feel about this?”

“I told you. This will be my last case, Miles. After this, I’m not going to be a field agent anymore.”

“You don’t even know if you’re coming back after this!”

Bass looks at him with eyes filled with hurt and Miles knows that he’s going to regret saying that. But right now, he’s angry. Right now, he’s hurt.

Right now, all he wants is to kiss Bass senseless and make sure that their last week together is not filled with just arguments.

*

They fuck all week. Here, there, anywhere that they can, as much as they can. They’re obvious and they know they’re getting on people’s nerves, but they can care less. They swap positions, they try different styles, they even try weird toys and kinks they've never really cared to explore before. This might be their last week.

Miles tries really hard not to think about the fact that this might be the last time he sees Bass. He tries really hard to just focus on Bass. Just focus on his breathing, on his pleasure, on his love.

They try to make it last forever.

*

“This is it.”

The two look at each other, both of them dreading what is to come.

“When I walk out of this door, I’m not going to be Sebastian Monroe anymore.”

Miles nod numbly. “I know.”

Bass closes his eyes and sighs. “I’m scared,” he admits. “I’ve never been this far away from you.”

“I know.” Miles repeat. Because he doesn't know what else to say. He doesn't know how else to express the despair, the fear.

Bass gives him a one last smile.

Then he’s gone.

*

The first day isn’t so bad. It’s filled with aching silence but Miles is used to that. Whenever Bass goes on a big mission, Miles just sits there and waits. And this is just like that. Bass is away on a mission. He’ll be back soon.

Except Miles knows that that’s not the truth. Bass might not be back for a while. For a long while, if he comes back at all.

Miles doesn’t know how long he can hold on.

*

The first few weeks are the hardest. 

Miles has absolutely no idea how he managed. Every sound he hears, every flicker of movement he sees from the corner of his eyes, he thinks it’s Bass. So he stands up, he glances around frantically, thinking “Yes. He’s home. He’s come home…” only to come face first with reality.

This isn’t a movie. This isn’t a book. This isn’t fiction. 

An undercover mission doesn’t take a few weeks to accomplish. 

So Miles sits back down at his desk, head down, face flushed with shame. And he sits. And he waits.

It’s the hardest fucking thing he’s ever done in a long time.

*

Two months later, Miles has finally eased into his new skin. He’s starting to finally get used to the silence of his apartment. The emptiness of his life. He’s finally used to not looking over his shoulder, wondering when Bass will be back. He’s finally not jumping at every single sound, thinking that it’s Bass. He’s no longer waiting by the phone, tapping his fingers in a tuneless beat.

Bass will be back when it’s time to come home. He just needs to wait. Because that’s what he signed up for when he decided to step out of the field. 

He finds himself hugging Bass’ pillow. He wraps himself in Bass’ clothes and cologne, something that’ll remind him that Bass will be coming back. Few times, he’s even taken showers with Bass’ soap and shampoo. He looks through the old photo albums. He buys things that he knows Bass will enjoy once he comes back home.

And Miles waits.

*

Work is the easiest thing in the world. All he has to do is turn all of his mental capability to the paperwork at hand and block out the rest of the world. It gives him a rest for a while from thinking about Bass. 

Then a colleague will walk by, tap him on the shoulder, ask him how he’s doing, and Miles loses any sense of calm he’s achieved through his work. He finds himself unable to answer, rubbing his neck awkwardly and shrugging haplessly. 

It doesn’t take long for people to just leave him alone unless it’s related to work.

*

He knows that he must have annoyed the crap out of Ben, because there’s no other reason why his brother would call him down when it’s not a holiday.

Rachel gives him uncertain looks, like she’s not too sure where they stand (like she still can’t wrap her mind around the fact that Miles is happily together with Bass). So she stands aloof while Ben pats him on the back as if trying to console Miles. He has to remind Ben multiple times that Bass isn’t dead and he will be coming home. Ben just gives him pitying looks that make Miles want to punch his brother, but he refrains (wouldn’t Bass be proud?).

It’s why Miles ends up babysitting Charlie. Because at least Charlie doesn’t judge. He just straps her down in the passenger seat and they go for a drive, windows down and music blaring. Miles sings at the top of his lungs, laughing wildly as Charlie giggles next to him. 

And for a brief second, he can pretend that he’s on a drive with Bass, him singing at the top of his lungs as Bass rolls his eyes but laughs along. But then he glances over and instead of the familiar warm eyes, he’s greeted with empty space and Charlie’s overexcited energy. He feels heart lurch and he can’t shake off the painful ache of longing.

Charlie looks up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Let’s go again!” she shouts, practically bouncing out of the seat. “Let’s go again!”

Miles forces himself to smile. He forces himself to turn off the music and roll up the windows. “No,” he tells her softly. “Let’s not.”

*

“Do you have to go?” Charlie whines, tugging on Miles’ pant sleeve with a pout. “Why can’t you stay a little longer?”

“Charlie, he has to go to work,” Rachel says gently, prying Charlie’s hands away from Miles. “It’s just like daddy going to work.”

“But why can’t Uncle Miles stay like you, mommy? Phillip’s dad stays at home all the time! So Uncle Miles can do it, too!”

Miles hides his smile behind his hand; trying hard to ignore the dirty look Rachel is shooting him. He decides that he’s going to rescue her and pulls Charlie into a big hug. “If I stay here all the time, you’re going to get bored of me.”

“Nuh-uh! You’re the best, Uncle Miles! You’re not boring!”

“Don’t worry, Charlie. I’ll be here for Thanksgiving,” Miles promises. He even offers his pinky to show Charlie how serious he is. “Who knows? Maybe Bass will come with me.”

Charlie nods enthused, but Miles gets the feeling that she doesn’t really remember Bass. How could she when he’s always away on assignments? But he smiles back at her, pats her one last time, and wave them goodbye.

*

Coming back home is harder than he could have imagined. After Charlie’s laughter and the presence of other humans, his empty apartment feels much emptier. No matter how many lights he turns on, it feels too dark. No matter how loud he blasts the TV, it feels too quiet. No matter what he tells himself, it feels like Bass might never come home.

Bass’ side of the bed doesn’t smell like him anymore. The scented candles that Bass used to light around the apartment have all been burned down low (if only Miles had asked where Bass got this because he can’t seem to find it anywhere else). There are thousand and one things in the fridge that he can’t quite bring himself to throw out because it’s Bass’ favorite.

But Bass isn’t here.

Who knows when he’ll be back?

Miles collapses to the ground and allows himself to cry.

*

Three months since Bass’ assignment and Miles decides on Spring Cleaning. It’s not Spring, but he figures what the hell? No one actually cares about the seasons. They just like it when things are clean.

He starts in the bedroom. He puts Bass’ things away first. Calmly stacks them in a box. As much as he can, he puts Bass’ things away. Bass’ clothes, Bass’ cologne, Bass’ favorite Civil War books… Everything. Anything that he can get his hands on that has even a lingering touch of Bass, he puts it away.

He sweeps through the entire apartment. He goes slowly, though. Day by day, for the entire month, he packs things up nicely and throws out expired food. He puts as much as he can into the boxes and labels them with Bass’ name.

By the end of the month, he realizes that he’s packed everything away and smacks himself on the forehead.

*

He spends the next month reopening all the boxes and putting things back. Well, not really. He opens only the most necessary ones (like clothes) and leaves things that he decides he doesn’t really need all that much (like Bass’ books). And he hates to admit it, but it almost looks like he just moved in, because of the amount of boxes and the things in those boxes.

In fact, he starts to live out of those boxes. He puts things away in the box once he’s done with them so that he can find it again by opening a box. 

At the end of the month, he rubs the back of his neck, looks around at his apartment filled with boxes and decides that he needs new furniture.

*

He spends the next few weeks window-shopping. He flips through the catalogs, talks to experts. He even spends a few minutes with his coworkers, opening up again. The others look a little relieved to see him up and about, talking. They trip over themselves, trying to keep him talking. They suggest retail stores, friends, and family members to keep Miles engaged.

They know better than to mention Bass. 

*

Miles sort of hates how easy it becomes to live. He knows that it’s just part of life. You get used to the absence. You start filling it up with other things (like cleaning or buying furniture or going out drinking). But he doesn’t want to fill up the gap. Because he knows what happens to those who tries to fill up that gap.

He knows because he’s seen it happen. FBI agent, remember? He’s watched lovers become estranged and fall apart. He’s seen agents having to leave their loved ones. And he’s watched in morbid fascination when the agents returned, many months later, and found that they couldn’t fit back in their old lives. Because the loved ones have moved on.

He doesn’t want to move on, because he doesn’t want to do that to Bass. He wants to always have a place for him. So that when Bass comes back, it wouldn’t be Miles dropping everything new for him. It wouldn’t be Bass trying to fit into Miles’ new life. It would be Bass coming home and the two of them falling back to their old pattern.

That’s what he promised himself.

That’s what he told himself.

But here he is, anyways, at the bar, drinking and talking to strangers as if the promise doesn’t matter. As if Bass doesn’t matter. He shoots back another drink and flirts with the man next to him. Miles doesn’t remember if the man dropped a name or not. Miles doesn’t remember half the thing the man said.

All he knows is that he’s lonely and he misses Bass and he’s drunk and the man’s interested.

*

He wakes with a huge hangover on his bed. The minute that registers, he wants to puke and he just barely holds it back. How did he get back? He doesn’t remember much of last night. Just booze and the bar and… the man.

Miles checks himself and notices that he’s still fully dressed. Okay, so maybe he didn’t do anything last night. But the guilt and shame doesn’t flush from his system and he can barely get himself up. Bathroom. That’s important. He thinks he didn’t pack up the hangover pills he’s going to need, but he’s not too sure.

It’s not until he’s finished his business and he walks out of the bedroom that he realizes something kind of important. 

Something smells like bacon. 

For a brief second, he recalls the days when he’d sleep in and Bass’d make him breakfast in bed. Sometimes, Bass’d be a little tease that he is and wear nothing but an apron as he walked in with whipped cream and chocolate…

He runs. 

Miles runs into the kitchen, forgetting about everything else. His heart is tugging and all he can think is _Bass, Bass, Bass…_ There’s a strange tingling sensation in his fingertips and toes and all he wants to do is ravish that stupid idiot for leaving him for so long and-

“Oh, hey. You’re up.”

That’s not Bass.

The man in front of him is big. His hair is straight and blonde, cut pretty short. He has muscles under the black shirt he’s wearing, and his jeans frame his butt pretty nicely. But _that’s not Bass._ He feels the bile rising up again and he has to grab the table to stop himself from falling. 

The man twists his body, most of his attention still on the bacon, but he does offer a bit of attention to Miles. He smiles goofily. “Hope you don’t mind that I made myself comfortable. You just sort of passed out on me last night.” He then motions to the boxes. “Are you tossing those out?”

“Stop talking,” Miles hisses as he just barely gets himself back under control. He sits down at the table, rubbing his temples.

“Bad hangover?” the man asks, sounding more amused than anything. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing that bacon can’t fix!”

“Who are you?”

Now he has the man’s full attention. Miles hasn’t meant to just blurt that out loud, but he can’t help himself. The blonde man’s giving him a half-hurt and half-amused look. It’s strange as hell and who the hell is he anyways? Why is he here? Why is he using Miles’ kitchen? And just what the hell had Miles been thinking bringing him home?

“You don’t remember, huh?” He laughs, returning to the bacon. “I’m Jeremy. We talked.”

“I don’t remember talking,” Miles snap. Childish, he thinks. But he’s hung over and awfully angry that he ever thought that this douchebag was Bass. 

“Jeesh, you’re really grumpy without alcohol, huh?”

“No one asked you!”

Jeremy places the bacon on a plate and puts it in front of Miles. “Eat,” he says patiently. He glances at his watch, muttering a soft curse. “Okay, you eat and I’m going to come back in few weeks, okay?”

“No. Not okay. Don’t come back.”

The blonde rolls his eyes. “Okay, I get that you don’t remember what we talked about. But I don’t have a lot of time, so I’m just going to have to paraphrase. This is highly unprofessional, but he was getting desperate and sloppy, and we can’t have that. He’s okay. He’s thinking of you, and it’s costing him the mission. It’s going to take longer. A lot longer if this continues. So you either get a move on and actually throw his things out, or stay for him. I don’t care which you decide, but it has to be enough to get his mind off of you. Got it?”

“Wait… what?” Miles' mind is racing a mile a minute and he can't quite grasp what's going on. The hangover doesn't help nor does the man in front of him. Why can't people just explain everything and speak in nice, clear terms?

Jeremy lets out a frustrated growl and runs his hand through his hair. “Are you going to wait for Monroe or not?”

“Of course I’m going to wait!” Miles snap. “What kind of question is that?”

“Even if it takes him over a year?”

Miles blinks. What kind of test is this? Who is this man? And can Miles really trust him? “No matter what it takes,” Miles answers, just as serious. “I’m going to wait.”

Jeremy exhales, almost relieved. “Good. That should keep him focused for a bit. I’m going to be around to keep an eye on you. And I’ll let you know how he’s doing. But right now, I have to get going. Okay?”

He grabs a jacket as he heads toward the door. Right before he grabs the knob, he turns to look at Miles. “This never happened,” he adds. “We met together for a drink and a night out, but we don’t know each other otherwise.”

“I know.”

Jeremy nods, slowly as if he doesn’t quite know if he trusts Miles. Then he sighs and walks out, leaving Miles with his hangover and a plate of bacon.

*

It’s easier after that. 

He still doesn't know who this "Jeremy Baker" is. He's looked him up on the FBI database and found a nearly empty entry that just marks him as an agent. But apparently he's together with Bass. He's backing him, maybe. That means Jeremy knows how Bass is, and in turn, it means that Miles knows it, too.

And it's more than enough to put wings on Miles' feet. He feels like skipping down the halls, singing at the top of his lungs. He feels like the sun on his skin is the most beautiful thing, the rain the most refreshing. He smiles brightly and waves at others. He's approachable and cheerful, and the rest of the world may not know it, but Miles knows. Miles knows.

Bass is alright.

*

Miles only makes it through the holidays because Charlie still loves him. Ben’s as suffocating as always, asking when Miles’ going to find a new girl. Rachel’s just as annoying with her puppy eyes aimed at him as if just because Miles doesn’t have Bass anymore, he’s going to jump into bed with her.

But see, Bass is waiting. Bass is out there, thinking of him. Bass is probably bored out of his mind, wishing that he could curl up next to Miles and breathe deeply. Because that’s how Miles feels and knowing that Bass misses him just as much keeps him sane.

“We’re thinking of giving Charlie a little sibling,” Ben tells him over dinner.

Miles shrugs. “Congrats.” But from the looks that Rachel’s shooting him, he gets the feeling that this isn’t her idea. Jesus, how the hell did these two get together again?

“And we would really like for both of them to have a stable uncle,” Ben continues.

“I’m stable.”

“You’re waiting for Bass, Miles. What if he-”

Miles holds up his hand. “Finish that thought and I walk out of your life.”

The two brothers glare at each other before returning to their foods. 

They don’t bring the subject back up.

*

Miles goes by his day, waiting for some kind of a sign from Bass. And once in a blue moon, he does get it. Sometimes, it’s Jeremy who shows up at his place with verbal news. Other times, it’s a small letter tucked away under his door in Bass’ tiny scrawl. Once, he’s even received a small keychain of a fish – a bass, haha. Get it? – hung on the doorknob.

It keeps him sane.

*

He knows exactly how long it takes because he keeps track. He keeps track in the visits to Ben’s place and the way Charlie’s growing and Ben’s new son starts teething. He keeps track in the amount of paperwork at work and the drinks he drowns himself in when things get too much. He keeps track of everything with certain surety that Bass is going to come home. 

Because Bass is going to come home. And once he does, they’re not going to waste any time filling up the three years that Bass hasn’t been home.

*

Miles knows that something’s wrong the minute he gets home from work. He’s worked late today. Had a few extra papers that he felt like finishing. So it’s late and he’s tired and his hands freeze at the doorknob because guess what? The door is open.

Not open as in he forgot to lock the door. But open as in someone opened the door and left it ajar. Not wide enough for normal people to notice it, but it’s open nonetheless. 

His training kicks in and he mentally searches for any kind of enemy he might have made recently. He can’t think of any. And he hasn’t exactly had a social life recently, so it’s not like an angry ex or someone who’s going to be waiting for him on the other room. There’s a small possibility that it might be Jeremy with more news, but he somehow gets the feeling that that the blonde isn’t that stupid to leave the door open like this.

Gulping slightly, his hands reach for the stun gun he always carries with him. Stun gun because he had to turn his actual gun in and he never bothered getting a concealed arms license. He uses his shoulders to nudge the door wider, and he walks in.

Silence. Whoever walked in hadn’t turned on the lights. There’s a strange scent in the air, and it takes him a few seconds to realize what it is. But the minute he realizes it, the stun gun drops from his hands.

Can it be?

Because that scent is an unmistakable scent of a special candle that Miles had been sure that he had used all of. And Miles hadn’t known where to get more, so he had just forgotten about it. But now that it was lit in somewhere in his dark apartment, he was suddenly hit with nostalgia and _hope_.

He’s shaking. Part of him wants to crush the hope ruthlessly because this has happened before, when he’d thought that Bass was home but he hadn’t been and he had been so crushed. He doesn’t want that feeling. It’s suffocating and he feels like death. But he can’t stop the curiosity. Who’s the sick fuck who’ll pull something like this?

Miles takes a tentative step forward. Then another. And another. He gains momentum and speed, and before he knows it, he’s running into the bedroom. He doesn’t bother being cautious anymore. He just kicks the door open and stops.

“Hey Miles.”

And there he is.

How long has Miles waited for this? For how long has he dreamed about this? How long has he ached for this moment?

“Am I dreaming?”

“Don’t think so. I’m back for good,” Bass assures him. He smiles that lazy smile and motions towards the bed. “Well?”

Miles doesn’t waste any more time. He jumps on the bed, boots be damned, and holds Bass close. Bass smells a little different. Like gun powder and blood. But he’s Bass and he’s back, and Miles just doesn’t really care about anything else.

There are many things that Miles Matheson knows, and believe him when he says that he knows them well. He knows that it’s going to be hard. That after the initial joy, they’re going to have to go through hell and back to keep themselves together. And despite his naïve viewpoint that they’re going to fit right back to three years ago, he knows that this is going to take work. But for right now, all he knows is that his love is back. All he knows is that the three years of wait? 

Totally worth it.


	2. I Just Can't Decide What I'm Running From.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bass is back from his undercover mission, but he can't seem to fit back into his old life.

“Miles?” he whispers into the darkened room. 

“I’m here.” 

Bass feels a hand against his cheek before he feels the sloppy kiss. He can’t hold back the chuckle at that. How can he? It’s been an eternity and a half since the last time he saw Miles (it’s actually three years, two weeks, and a day. He can cite you the hour, minute, and seconds if he had a watch. But the detail-oriented part of his mind is what got him into this mess so he’d prefer not using it for a while, thank you), but the stupid idiot hasn’t changed a bit.

“Are you laughing at me?” Miles asks, sounding a little exasperated and a little amused. He misses this too, Bass knows. He knows because he can feel the huffy way Miles’ breathing is getting and the way Miles shifts his weight up to try to stare at Bass’ face in the darkness. They've missed one another for too long.

“It’s just… you never change, do you?”

“I didn’t want to change. That was the whole point, Bass. That I wouldn’t change so that you’d be able to fit right back where we left off.”

It’s a sweet gesture, if not a little moronic. Because it’s already been three years and Miles thinks that he can just not change? As if life is _that_ simple. Because Miles can stay the same all he wants but that’s not going to matter because Bass…

“I know, I know. Don’t get mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just saying-”

“Shut up and just kiss me.”

It’s cheap and it’s stupid, but Miles loves that kind of romantic sweetness. Bass doesn’t want to fight. Not right now, not when he’s finally back in Miles’ arms and bed. They should be jumping each other, not arguing. But it doesn’t stop the nagging feeling. It doesn’t stop the stupid guilt. He did what he had to do to survive. Miles will understand that. Miles always understands that.

So why is he so terrified of telling Miles what happened?

*

Bass wakes thinking that he’s back on the mission. And for the first few seconds of his awareness, he mentally catalogues everything in the room. Every sound he hears, every scent he catches, and every movement. It takes him exactly 23.4 seconds (that’s too slow, even for him) to realize that no, he doesn’t have to worry. He’s safe. He’s at home.

“Hey you,” Miles greets as he brings in a tray of food. 

“Breakfast in bed? Made by Miles Matheson? Did someone replace my crass and alcoholic lover while I was gone?”

“I think you’re describing yourself there, Bass,” Miles counters. 

He helps Bass up, despite the fact that the agent doesn’t need it. He hasn’t needed Miles’ help for quite some time now. Then he places the tray of food on Bass’ lap, grinning up at him like the love-sick fool he is.

Bass smiles back. How can he not? He’s missed this. And it’s really not until he’s back by Miles’ side that he’s struck by how much he’s missed this. He remembers aching for it in the beginning. But then the ache had dulled because time heals everything and he hadn’t had the time to think about Miles, not with the mission hanging over his head. But now, now that he’s back here, in this dinky apartment with nothing but Miles and his stupid smiles and his stupid romantic gestures…

“So what did you do to all my books?”

Miles’ smile freezes. He gulps nervously and he has a hard time meeting Bass’ eyes. Bass picks up his fork and eats a piece of omelet. “This is pretty good,” he adds, as if that's going to lessen the blow. 

“I put them in boxes,” Miles says finally, ignoring the comment about the food. “I put most of your things in boxes.”

Bass puts down his fork. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No! It’s not… That’s not why. Bass, it’s just… I got lonely. And I needed something to do other than smelling your stuff. So I put them in nice boxes. I thought about getting furniture for a while.”

“Yeah?” Bass can't get over the fact that Miles had been smelling his things. He raises his brows and wags them to let Miles know.

“Yeah. I couldn’t decide, though. You were always better at it. So I just…”

“… Have you been living out of boxes?”

Miles nods. “Don’t be mad.”

Bass just shakes his head. “I’m not mad.” 

He picks up the fork up again and cuts another slice of the omelet. “Want a bite?”

Another argument averted.

*

There’s a stain in their relationship. Bass doesn’t even know when it began or where it came from. Because he doesn’t remember things being this awkward before. He doesn’t remember struggling to find the right words to say to Miles. He doesn’t remember wondering if it’s okay to move or if it’s okay to touch Miles. He doesn’t remember anything being this hard.

“Something wrong?”

Bass glances up. “What?”

“You’re kind of staring at me.”

“What? I’m suddenly not allowed to stare at the guy I like?” 

Miles gives him a lopsided grin before kissing him lightly on the mouth. It doesn’t feel natural at all.

“Something’s bothering you,” Miles presses. He must’ve felt it, too. Of course he does. If Bass feels off, of course his other half would feel off. “Bass, I promise you, your books are fine.”

“I’m fine, Miles.”

“If you’re mad-”

“I’m not mad.”

*

It feels weird to be “Sebastian Monroe.” It feels weirder to be called “Bass.” It’s almost as if he’s a kid going through puberty and has just found out that he no longer fit in his favorite shirt from two years ago. Or at least he’s found that he can’t quite fit into the shirt as he used to be able to. Like his head can’t quite find the collar or his arms can’t locate the sleeves.

Bass feels disoriented and lost. And all he really wants is to be able to call back next to Miles again without feeling like a poser. Like he’s not really who he says he is. But he knows that he is Bass. He is Miles’ Bass. But then there are times when everything just feels wrong and awkward and nothing seems to fit together anymore. Like someone had taken scissors to his puzzle pieces (his younger sisters used to do that when they got mad at him), and now the puzzle can never be whole again.

“Bass, Command just called. Did you forget to go in for debriefing before you came home?”

“Oh… I thought I forgot something…”

“Bass,” Miles says with exasperated fondness. 

“Miles,” he whines back, just as exasperated. “Don’t get mad. I don’t want to sit through boring lectures! I just want to be home with you.”

And the worst part of this all? Bass doesn’t really mean half the things he says. He might have, once upon a time when he was just Sebastian Monroe and no one else. He might have, once upon a time when his world started with Miles Matheson and ended with him. But he’s not just Sebastian Monroe. Not anymore. 

For the last three years, he was someone else. Just as much as their relationship is stained, the “Sebastian Monroe” part of him is stained, too. 

He hates it.

He wants to be the one that Miles is waiting for. That Miles had spent three years wanting back. But he’s not that man. He’s not Sebastian Monroe. Or at least, he is except with another identity mixed in there. He’s not pure “Sebastian Monroe.” At least, not the one that Miles needs, the one that Miles grew up with, the one that loves Miles just as unconditionally as Miles loves him. And he fears that if he talks too much, if he’s too much like his other self and not like Bass, then Miles is going to be stained by the impurities of that mission. That Miles is going to become dirty.

And that's one thing that Bass will never be able to forgive himself for.

*

Bass sits in front of the Command with the stacks of paperwork that he hasn’t had the chance to do fill out. They ask him questions about the mission. Details that he knows he should have written down, because he’s blanking on the stupidest of things. 

“Agent Baker should be able to fill in any gaps,” Bass adds. “He provided me with backup and support, so he should know anything else.”

The rest of the debriefing goes by antagonizing slow. They talk over semantics of words and details that Bass doesn’t even feel like remembering. He just wants to forget all of this. He wants to put it behind him so he can try to be Miles' Bass again. In the end, they have to call Agent Baker down just to explain things. Of course, it just ends in the two of them laughing over inside jokes and frustrating the Command.

It doesn’t take long for Bass to finally be kicked out.

He doesn’t hesitate. He knows where to go from here. And just as Miles had promised, nothing has changed. Bass finds Miles at his desk, typing away on the computer. There’s a strange feeling in his heart, a tug that he hasn’t felt in such a long time. And he knows. _He knows._ Because this feeling is pure Sebastian Monroe.

“Miles,” he greets, leaning over the computer with a grin. 

What he doesn’t expect is for Miles to jump. What he doesn’t expect is for Miles to look at him with fear and anxiety. What he doesn’t expect is for Miles to react any different than he used to before three years ago. Because back then, Miles would have looked up, grinned back, and greeted him with a laugh. 

Oh, Bass thinks to himself. Oh. Because Miles is wrong. He’s changed. They’ve both changed. And that’s why there’s a stain in their relationship. Because it’s not that Bass has changed into someone else and he can no longer fit in the mold or that Bass has been drowning in the filth of humanity. It’s that they’ve both drifted apart and changed to the point that their old roles don’t make sense anymore. They're both being stupid, trying to cling to their old roles. 

“Bass?” Miles asks. His eyes are wide, as if he can’t quite process the fact that Bass is standing before him at work despite having left the apartment together to come in.

“Don’t get ma-”

Bass never gets to finish the thought. Because Miles grabs him by the collar and yanks him down. Their lips collide with such force that it kind of hurts (but it’s the good kind of hurt). Miles releases him and they both laugh, feeling kind of sheepish at that awkward crash but at the same time, loving that they’ve still got it.

Because yeah, they’ve changed and they don’t quite fit, but they still love each other.

*

They fuck in the bathroom like teenagers in heat. Mouths crushed together and humping desperately. They grind and gasp, bite and moan, and best of all, they clutch one another like they’re each others’ life line. It’s good and it’s fast and it’s all that they’ve been waiting for. It's almost like they're back.

They grin at each other before kissing again.

*

This is nice.

Not like fancy restaurant dinner nice or going to a play nice. But a different kind of nice. They’re at the bar, drinking together. They have a small booth, pretty private and secluded, although they know better than to say anything classified. 

“Do you remember that time in second grade, that guy… Oh man, what’s his name? The one who thought he could jump off the swing set higher than you? And broke his arm? It was… Jack… Jack?”

“You mean Jackson?”

“Yeah! Jackson!” Bass shakes his head. “That guy was a dope!”

Miles laughs at the memory. “No, you were the dope. You watched him break his arm and then tried it anyways.” He picks up his glass of whiskey and drinks it. “Man, everyone thought you were crazy.”

“You didn’t think that.”

“Uh, yeah I did!”

“Nuh-uh, because the minute you realized I was crazy was when we were in middle school!”

“When you decided to catch a bat and put it in Ben’s bed?”

The two of them laugh, loving the trip down memory lane. They share the memories of their childhood over alcohol. The furthest they’ve ever spent apart in their whole life is the last three years; everything else, they were together for (Would you believe them if they said that even their pregnant mothers had been friends?). Bass loves this moment because he can finally remind himself of who he used to be. He can immerse himself of memories and forget about the last three years and-

“So what did you do?” Miles asks, finally crossing the line into the unknown three years. “Are you ever going to tell me?”

Bass freezes. The alcohol suddenly feels like stone, weighing him down. Judging. He forces himself to gulp. He forces himself to put the glass down. He forces himself to meet Miles’ eyes. His lover is giving him an uncertain look. Like he’s not too sure if he’s going to stop Bass from saying anything more.

“Yeah. I’m going to tell you, of course.” Bass fidgets. It’s not like him and he knows it. It’s too much like the identity that he’s taken while under cover. It disgusts him how easy it is to slip back. “There… There was this weapon manufacture.”

“Ark Industries, right? I remember.”

Bass nods. He lifts the glass and puts it back down without drinking it. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t know what else to say. “Yeah. Uh… Peter Fleming. That was the owner’s name. We had intel that he was doing illegal dealings. I just had to prove it.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went undercover as a cop. He hired me as part of his private police force.” Bass shrugs. “Nothing else.”

“Oh come on, Bass. This is you, we’re talking about. You’ve got to have more story than that!”

Bass shakes his head. “No. Nothing else.”

“Hey, is that V-man?”

Bass closes his eyes. No. Oh no. Not now. He just wants to hide that part of him away. Tuck it in a corner and never think about it again. He just wants to try and work things out with Miles without thinking about the stupid mission.

“Hey Jeremy,” Miles says, his voice sharp in warning.

“Baker,” Bass greets, turning to face him finally “We’re having a moment here.”

Jeremy Baker doesn’t get the hint. He sits down in the booth with them, making sure to sit next to Bass. He takes Bass’ drink, takes a sip, and grimaces. Miles glares at him, his eyes glancing between the distance between Bass and Jeremy. Suspicion.

“Ew. Whiskey?” he asks. “Huh. So that wasn’t just a Vince thing?”

“Vince?” Miles asks, his voice gaining an unusual high pitch.

“Vincent Faraday,” Jeremy answers, giving him a grin. “Monroe’s undercover identity. What? Didn’t he fill you in?”

Bass closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to hear that name. Not right now. Not when Miles is here. He wants to keep that part of him separate. He wants Miles to be kept separate. He wants Miles to stay pure. “Baker, don’t you have better things to do?”

“Not really, no,” Jeremy tells him with a cheeky grin. “C’mon, I want to hang out with the guys, too. Don’t be so cold, man. Here, next round’s on me.” Then he grabs Bass’ drink and finishes it, grimacing all the while. “No seriously, as Vince, you had better taste.”

“’Vince’ was also married,” Bass points out. “He never had any time to develop taste.”

“I don’t know man, his wife was smoking hot.”

Miles glances between them, looking like he wants to jump in. But he doesn’t. Bass doesn’t know if it’s because Miles has suddenly become uncomfortable or unconfident, and to be honest, he’s not sure if he wants to know. He just knows that he wants to push Jeremy away so that he can have that space back. So that he can be back with just Miles back in the past…

“His wife was also not his. She was an agent.”

“Did that make it easier to sleep with her?”

Both Jeremy and Bass stare at Miles, who won’t meet their eyes. It’s not until now that Jeremy seems to realize something’s wrong. He clears his throat and tugs nervously at his collar. 

“I’ll… go get the next round.” And he runs away, that coward.

“Miles…” Bass begins.

“I’m not mad,” Miles assures him. “I’m not.”

But that’s not true. And it’s not fair that Bass keeps forcing them to not fight like this. They can’t always just push everything away with a simple “I’m not mad.” They have to figure things out. So why not now?

“Yes, you are.” Bass sighs and rubs his face. “I’m sorry, Miles. But yes, you are mad.”

Miles slams his glass back down on the table, finally facing Bass. And no, Bass is wrong. Miles isn’t mad. He’s livid. He’s furious. He’s beyond the simple three-lettered word. Bass can see it in the way Miles grinds his teeth, the way his eyes shine, and the way his muscles tense and relax and tense all over again.

“Alright fine. I’m mad. But what the fuck, Bass?” Miles doesn’t give Bass any time to answer. “Who the fuck is that guy? Why does he keep popping up everywhere? Just… just what is your relationship with him?”

“He’s Agent Baker. He was my backup. And when I started to lose it, he helped me get in contact with you. That’s all.”

“If that’s true, then why does he hang about you like that? Bass, the way he looks at you, it’s like-”

“What do you want me to say? That I cheated on you? That I found someone else?”

Miles look at Bass with uncertainty. “It… would definitely hurt less than finding out like this.”

And that’s just it, isn’t it? He’s been worried so much about hiding himself, protecting himself that he’s forgotten that he’s hurting Miles in the process. Bass closes his eyes and gulp down the lump of fear and guilt. When he opens them again, Miles is waiting for him, pleading with his eyes for the truth.

The truth, huh?

“It wasn’t Baker,” Bass forces out. “Fleming… was interested. We got drunk. But nothing happened, Miles. We just… got drunk.”

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

“Because I’m still your Bass.”

Miles looks down at his hands, rolling the glass of whiskey. “Are you really?”

There’s a heavy silence between them, because Bass really doesn’t know how to answer that.

*

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Miles looks like he wants to say something. Say something more than leave everything to the putrid silence between them. But in the end, he doesn’t say anything. He just nods slowly and walks into the bedroom.

Somehow, this isn’t the homecoming Bass expected. To be honest, he doesn’t know what he had been hoping for. Did he think that he would really be able to fit back in Miles’ life? Did he think that Miles would have moved on so he would never have to worry about this? He really doesn’t know.

He lies down on the couch, looking up at the ceiling with a frown.

“Bass?”

Miles carries a blanket and a pillow as he walks over towards the couch. He hands the pillow over and throws the blanket gently around Bass. He looks like he’s about to leave but he stops. Instead, he kneels down next to Bass and looks him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have expected you to be the same. Things don’t work like that. Hell, I don't think that I'm even the same.”

“And I’m sorry that I forced you into that position.”

The two look at each other, the awkward silence hung between them again. Miles sighs and rubs the back of his neck.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says.

“Do you love me?”

“Always.”

“But you can’t trust me.”

“… Give me time?”

Bass smiles. “I’ll always trust you.”

“But you don’t love me?” Miles asks, fear slowly creeping into his voice.

“I love you. Always have, always will. Since that moment in kindergarten when you spilled grape juice on me.”

“Liar,” Miles whispers. He’s smiling again, much to Bass’ relief. “You didn’t like me until I gave you half of my Twinkie in third grade. Because that's when I fell in love with you. Why else would I have given you my Twinkie?”

The two pause, chuckling at the memory.

“Do you think we can start over?”

Miles smiles. Gentle and loving, just as Bass has always kept in his memory. He presses a kiss to Bass’ forehead and lingers there. “Sure,” he promises. “Let’s try again. This time, no more secrets, Bass. And no more stupid expectations from me, either.”

“That’s fine. We’ve never been good at keeping secrets away from each other anyways.” 

They smile at each other. It’s been exactly three years, two weeks, and three days (four hours, fifteen minutes, two seconds and counting…) since their relationship was perfect. And for the first time in that approximately three years of waiting period, Bass finally feels like they’re going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, the porn that was originally planned ended up not happening. But I do encourage everyone to imagine fun, hot times between our favorite duo!


End file.
